


If only you’d lay your eyes on mine

by Living_On_My_Own



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Insecurity, M/M, Panic Attacks, and Brian has no idea so it makes a mess, freddie gets too much in his head, i literally have no idea what to put in tags, just a very angsty with happy ending story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_On_My_Own/pseuds/Living_On_My_Own
Summary: It starts with just a small though, in the back of the mind, it’s exponential, and the next moment it’s all he thinks about
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	If only you’d lay your eyes on mine

“Give it to me one more time!”

It all happens in the fraction of a second, a slip of his foot, a false move, no time to avoid what’s clearly coming, a sharp pain, not enough strength to get up. 

He has to close his teeth tightly, to clench his jaw so he doesn’t  _ scream  _ in pain. 

This must be a nightmare, must be just one of those dreams he gets before an important show, just the stress getting too much to his head. It isn’t. 

The crowd cheers for him while he breathes in and out carefully, he feels dizzy, it hurts like a fucking bitch. And only for slipping down two stairs. Christ, he’s ridiculous sometimes. 

Brian is at his side quickly, reaching out to try and help him, he doesn’t realise how bad it truly is. He’ll be so disappointed. Freddie hopes he won’t be mad. He usually is when Freddie is too intense on stage, when it's getting too dangerous. 

Phoebe helps him back on the piano bench, he hides the fact he’s in excruciating pain and jokes about this stupid fall he had. They’ll have to cancel the rest of the tour, Reid will be furious, oh god, he’s  _ so _ stupid. At least Deaky will be glad to see his wife, he’s been talking about her often since he learned she was pregnant again. 

He ignores Brian’s look as he starts singing Bohemian Rhapsody. His voice is raw, strained from the pain. Oh god, Brian will  _ yell _ at him when they’ll be back at the hotel. He hopes he won’t be too mad. At least not to the point of refusing cuddling with him. 

Freddie pushes through, sings the song even with the pain still making his head spin. He can’t ruin this concert, the fans paid for their tickets, to see them singing, not to see Freddie be dragged off stage because he hurt himself. It doesn’t matter how much his fucking knee hurts, the fans are what’s important.  _ The show must go on.  _

He’s still relieved when it’s finished, when the show ends and he’s carried away from the stage lights into a chair backstage. The adrenaline goes away, making the pain stronger. 

“Ahh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters when pain starts shooting through his whole leg. 

“Fred? Are you okay?” Brian asks, he doesn’t look mad, for now, he looks concerned. He kneels in front of him, laying his hand on Freddie’s not injured knee. 

“I-I think we should go to the hospital,” Freddie answers, not that he wants to. He really doesn’t want to, but Brian will want them to go, so it’s better not to argue. Maybe at least they’ll give him something so it doesn’t hurt as much. 

  
  
  


_ 6 weeks.  _ 6  _ fucking _ weeks without touring. 6 weeks without touring and a fucking cast on his whole leg. He has to use crutches. This is  _ so  _ much worse than Freddie expected. At least now the pain isn’t so bad with all the morphine. 

He’s exhausted, just the ride to the hospital took all his energy, then the few hours in the hospital and then the ride back home. Brian didn’t seem angry at any moment, but he’ll probably be when they’ll be finally in the bedroom. 

Finally laying on the bed, after Brian  _ and _ Phoebe helping him up the stairs, he closes his eyes, not even bothering to remove his clothes, it takes too much effort. 

“Freddie,” Brian mutters, laying beside him in the bed. 

“Can you please be mad tomorrow? I’m knackered and I can’t even open my eyes,” Freddie retorts. 

“I’m not mad, baby, I just want you to be careful.”

Freddie hums, one last time before trying to relax his body. Brian brings him close, careful not to hurt him in any way and kisses him on the forehead before falling asleep after Freddie. 

  
  
  


It is hell, he can’t do anything on his own, at least barely anything. Brian fusses over everything, following him even to the bathroom. He had to beg Brian for a good half an hour before convincing him to go to a bar,  _ something _ . He’s driving himself mad in this bed all day long. 

He’s noticed, barely two weeks after the accident, how his body changed. He used to go out a lot, to exercise. He made sure he would be okay running around on stage for nights on end. He’s losing the body he used to have, he’s gaining weight. 

He used to look at himself in the mirror, finally proud of how he looked, proud of his broad shoulders that Brian likes and tells him often. He looks like a right mess now. He’s noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the extra weight on his belly, on his thighs. Brian told him they should stop having sex since the accident. He said that it wouldn’t be right to do it while Freddie’s hurting. He’s not hurting that bad, he wouldn’t mind the pain if Brian could touch him. 

He’s probably noticed that Freddie doesn’t look as good as he used to. It’s probably why he doesn’t want to have sex. Freddie wouldn’t want to have sex with himself when he looks like that. 

He doesn’t sleep naked anymore. He doesn’t allow Brian to lay his hands too much on him when they sleep. When Brian asks why he wears pajamas, he says he’s cold and when he goes to put his hand on his stomach he says the pajamas make him too hot. Brian hasn’t complained. 

He looks happy, when Freddie comes back from the bar’s bathroom, talking to two  _ pretty  _ women. They’re really beautiful, just like the type of women Brian used to date when they weren’t together. 

He’s not flirting, Freddie knows it, but maybe he should, maybe he should consider doing it, leaving Freddie for someone much better, much prettier. He forces himself to walk to them, still struggling with his fucking crutches that he can’t get rid of. Maybe if this stupid fucking accident wouldn’t have happened, maybe Brian would want him. 

“Hello, darlings,” he says, stopping in front of the three. 

The girls understand quickly and walk away, giggling. Like usual, Brian helps him sit on his chair, putting the crutches against the bar. There’s a new drink placed in front of Freddie, probably a vodka tonic, like he prefers. 

“Already replacing your old and crippled boyfriend?” He says to Brian, jokingly, or at least he tries to joke. He hopes it sounded like a joke. Not that it truly is one to Freddie. 

Brian catches on to the vulnerability on Freddie’s face. 

“Never.”

  
  
  


“They’re pretty,” Freddie whispers to Brian as he sits in front of him on the bed. 

“Who?” Brian asks, laying a hand on Freddie’s uninjured leg. 

“The girls you talk to,” Freddie says, he needs to avoid Brian’s eyes, because it hurts and he’ll cry if he looks at him in the eyes. 

_ ’They’re prettier than me’ _ is what he wants to say. But the words don’t form correctly out of his mouth. They taunt him, because it’s true and even Brian probably realises by now. 

“And?” Brian asks, as if not even knowing why Freddie would bring it up. 

“I don’t know, maybe you could tell me,” Freddie answers. It’s not said,  _ again,  _ like he wanted it to come out. Brian is probably not cheating on him, but he has the choice and Freddie can’t help but show him. Because he doesn’t think Brian is doing himself any good while staying with him. 

“You’re being unfair,” Brian responds, annoyed, and this isn’t what Freddie wanted. He didn’t want Brian to remove his hand from his leg, to turn to his side of the bed, to lay down under the covers, his back at Freddie. 

“I’m sorry—“ he doesn’t finish his sentence when Brian closes the light beside him and brings a lump in Freddie’s throat. He’s fucked it up. Isn’t it what he was supposed to do? Not this way, he didn’t want Brian angry, he just wanted him to understand there’s much better people than him out there. 

“Darlin—“

“Goodnight.”

Freddie picks up his crutches, trying to get out of the bed while hiding that he’s now crying and he  _ can’t  _ stop it. He tries to sniffle as quietly as possible, hopefully Brian didn’t hear him. Not that it would do anything. He wouldn’t care. Freddie’s being childish. 

  
  
  


Being on his own for a few days isn’t what he wants. Brian turning his head away from him each time they walk past each other isn’t what he wants. Freddie’s hoped Brian would forget about it the next day, kiss him and tell him it’s fine, that he loves him. But he understood it wouldn’t be like that when he walked down the stairs at dinner time, went to the table, only to find his own plate, Brian nowhere near. 

He gave the plate back to Joe while trying not to fall with only one of his crutches. He apologized, told him he wasn't hungry that night. Joe probably saw through him. 

Brian didn’t hold him in bed that night, nor the night after, nor the night following. Freddie had to wait until locked in the bathroom to cry, as silently as possible. Brian’s gonna leave eventually, and he’s sure of it. 

Brian spends most of his time in the study, door completely closed, only a line of light to be seen from outside. He’s probably working on some new songs. Freddie spends most of his time in the bedroom, door wide opened in case Brian would want to join him, he never has. He doesn’t do much more than thinking, trying to write maybe a good song out of this. But his emotions are still too strong for anything right to come out. Phoebe kindly joined him for a talk once. 

He hasn’t eaten much, without Brian there, it’s even harder. He hasn’t felt hungry at all, stressing out each second he hears a door shut closed, out of fear of it being the front door, Brian gone with every of his most important things, Freddie isn’t a part of them. 

Brian’s probably glad he hasn’t eaten much, he’ll lose weight and look more attractive, maybe then Brian won’t want to leave. Maybe if he’s pretty enough again, Brian will consider staying, maybe he’ll start twisting the ring on his finger again, with a smile on his face. 

Brian hasn’t been feeling the best either, he’s been mad for awhile, mad that Freddie would insinuate he’s cheating. Then he’s been mad that Freddie hasn’t come to apologise, before realising that he’s rejected him the first time he did. 

He’s hated it all, hated the way he turned himself away from Freddie at night, hated the way he brought his food all the way to the office, knowing it would hurt Freddie. He just wanted him to be as hurt as he himself felt. Didn’t Freddie trust him? After all this time? 

The more he knows he hurt Freddie, the more he hurts himself, but he just can’t bring himself to do anything else. He doesn’t know how to bring it up, to make it right. 

Walking down the stairs for the first time of the day, Brian goes to the kitchen, searching for a glass to drink water in. He’s been hiding in the office for so long that he hasn’t even thought about actually making sure he doesn’t die of dehydration or hunger. 

“Brian,” Phoebe says from behind him. 

“Oh, hi Peter,” Brian says, a quick smile forming on his face. He turns around to walk away but doesn’t have the chance as Phoebe grabs his arm. 

“You need to make this right,” he says firmly, because he’s been worried, because he hasn’t liked the way Freddie looked when he told him about their fight, the way his eyes turned glossy, the way he gripped onto him, as if trying to make him stay. Like he needed any convincing. 

“Phoebe—“

“No, don’t think I’m gonna let this go on, because I’m not. Freddie’s never been so fucking miserable and I can’t let this continue. He hasn’t fucking eaten, he hasn’t done anything in days.” He looks angry, like this is uniquely Brian’s fault. 

“He’s the one who doesn’t trust me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to know him better than I do by now?” Phoebe asks, he can’t believe Brian doesn’t understand, that he still doesn’t get why Freddie seems so untrusty. It surprises him that Brian doesn’t notice the look in his eyes each time Brian leaves, even only to go and buy a carton of milk. 

“Please Phoebe, don’t—“

“Phoebe!”

It’s Freddie’s voice, from the garden, Brian’s heart lurches at hearing him. It hasn’t been that long, but it feels like years, not hearing Freddie say a word to him for three days. He hasn’t exactly let him talk, showed that he would even listen to a word he has to say. 

“Come on, it’s your chance, Brian,” Peter says, Brian has to forget about his ego, forget about the small anger stopping him for making it right. 

“He called for you Pho—“

Phoebe cuts him off with his eyes, they look dark, insisting. He won’t say a word more, it’s Brian’s job to figure it out. 

Brian steps forward hesitantly. Freddie needs him, he’s not  _ well. _ He’s not eating. Brian feels awful for it, because he made him so stressed or so hurt that he couldn’t eat. 

Freddie is sitting on the grass, legs spread in front of him. He doesn’t turn to look at Peter, who else could it be anyway? 

“Can you help me get up? I’m fucking useless,” Freddie explains, he laughs, but he sounds sad. 

Brian walks quietly to him, eventually stopping in front of Freddie. “Bri,” he whispers, looking up at him. He looks tired, sad. Brian hasn’t had a chance to look at him these past days. Well he didn’t make an effort to do so at least. He’s been selfish. 

“Come on,” Brian says, holding his arms out to Freddie. He helps him get up then takes the crutches from the ground to give them to him. He doesn’t look at Brian, doesn’t dare move in case Brian’s leaving to do something else. 

He’s surprised when Brian takes him in his arms. He immediately wraps his arms around Brian’s torso, feeling tears prickling at his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bri,” he says, choked up. 

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have ignored you. When things like that happen we need to talk, and I promise I won’t act this way again.” 

Brian kisses him on the forehead, making sure he’s safe and warm in his arms. Making sure he’s happy, not miserable because of him. 

  
  
  


Freddie’s nervous, laying in bed, waiting for Brian. He’s nervous that Brian will sleep again on his side of the bed, ignore him like the other nights, like he’s nothing to him, like he’s just a stranger. That’s what it felt like, that what hurt the most, to feel like he was a stranger to Brian, nothing more than that. 

He holds in his breath when he hears Brian walking in, he makes barely any noises, only the cracks of the wooden floor and the wails of the door being opened. He closes his eyes tightly, his heart beating like crazy. The bed dips under Brian’s weight, and the several seconds where he doesn’t even  _ acknowledge _ Freddie makes him want to cry. Doesn’t Brian want to sleep close to him? Is he still angry, even if he doesn’t show it?

But then he feels a kiss at the back of his head and his heart bursts with relief. He slowly, still nervous, turns around, his  _ fucking  _ plastered leg getting in the way. He’s met with Brian’s face, a kiss on the lips, lovely eyes looking at him with much overwhelming love. He presses a kiss to the soft skin on Brian’s neck, heat shooting through both of them. 

It’s been so long, Freddie had to satisfy himself in the burning water of the shower or the empty bedroom when Brian was away to get groceries. He understood, when Brian told him it was better that they didn’t have sex while he recovered, but he couldn’t help but think it was because Brian didn’t want him anymore. 

After some time, it’s Brian that kisses him in the neck, then lower, and lower. His lips arrive just above the collar of Freddie’s T-shirt. Freddie freezes when Brian’s warm hands slide under his shirt, meeting with the skin of his chest. Quickly, he sits up, Brian’s hands sliding out of the fabric. 

If anything more happens, he’ll have to get naked, and Brian will see him, and he want to touch him anymore—

“If we’re careful, it won’t hurt you. We don’t even have to go all the way,” Brian says, as if he’s not the one who proposed they didn’t do  _ anything _ like that for a while. 

“You’re the one who said we shouldn’t,” Freddie whispers, as if that’s what’s bothering him. His heart is still pumping, excessively.

“I really, really missed you, baby,” Brian’s voice is low, seductive, and Freddie would definitely feel aroused if he didn’t want to cry. Brian  _ can’t  _ see him like this, like such a  _ mess _ . 

“Bri, stop,” Freddie pleads stupidly when Brian tries to remove his T-shirt again. He looks away when Brian looks at him, but Brian forces his head back in place, he looks worried. 

“Freddie, what’s going on?” He asks, frowning. 

“Nothing, darling, I’m just tire—“

“No, I can tell when you’re tired, baby, and you’re not.” He uses Freddie’s nickname to not sound accusing, but just concerned, hopefully comforting too. 

Freddie looks away again, shamefully, he can’t say it, then Brian will notice and he won’t want him. He’ll want some prettier, younger woman that could please him so much better than he could. And then when he’ll have found that person, he’ll leave, he’ll leave him, because Freddie will be useless to him. And Freddie will have to find what to do with his life, because his knee will be so fucked up he won’t be able to tour anymore, and a band can’t continue with a singer that can’t tour. They’ll leave him too, they’ll leave him to die in this gigantic house, they’ll leave him to find a capable vocalist. And he’ll have nothing left. 

The thoughts are so awful, he squeezes his eyes shut, shocked when he feels tears coming out, wetting his probably red face. He clenches his jaw tightly, it trembles when Brian’s hand caresses his cheek, wipes away stray tears. 

“Baby,” Brian’s voice is soft when he keeps talking, “What’s wrong?” He wants to make it better, hates when he feels so powerless, incapable of making his love feel better. He doesn’t even know what’s making Freddie so miserable. 

It takes a while for Freddie’s tears to slow down, for his face to relax again, even slightly. He talks, as hard as it is, “I-I don’t— I don’t think you’d want m-me,” he whispers, pained. 

“Why?”

And then, in a single breath, he explains it all, “I haven’t b-been able t-to exercise since the accident and I’ve gained w-weight, and now I’m fat—“ He eventually cuts himself, shutting his eyes back closed, scared of Brian’s reaction, scared that the warmth of Brian’s hand on his uninjured leg will be gone in a few seconds or minutes. 

“Freddie.”

Brian’s voice is harder and he feels sick. That’s it, he should have shut up, he shouldn’t have said anything, he ruined everything and now Brian doesn’t want him, just like he imagined. He’s probably gonna leave now, in a moment, after telling him he can find much better. 

“I’m sorry, I swear— I swear as soon as I’m recovered I’ll exercise again and I’ll lose all the weight and—and—and—“

_ You won’t have to leave me. _

In the urgency of the situation, he opens his eyes, probably wider than he meant to and he grips Brian’s hand in his own. He doesn’t dare look at his face, only at their joined hands, he’s not even concentrated on his breath that’s shortening, quickening in panic. He doesn’t even notice Brian calling his name. He can’t let him go, can’t let him leave. His sight is blurry when Brian forces him to look up at him. He keeps whispering sorry, at least he thinks he is, over and over again. Maybe if he says it enough, maybe Brian will forgive him, maybe he won’t leave. 

He grips on the shirt laying on Brian’s back when he’s brought into a hug. He grips onto anything he can, can’t let go, can’t let him leave, can’t let him leave,  _ can’t let him leave.  _ He’s probably holding on too tight, probably scratching the skin with his nails accidentally while trying not to let go of the fabric with his shaky hands. 

“I promise—I’m sorry—Bri, I’m sorry—I swear—“

He can’t make out what he’s saying over the rushing in his ears, the beating of his heart thumping in his head. He’s so concentrated on  _ not letting Brian leave _ that he doesn’t even feel the warmth of their bodies close, it makes him panic even more, he can’t feel Brian. 

“Freddie! Fred, love, it’s okay, I’m here. I’m here, I’m not leaving. Come on, you don’t have to do anything. You’re beautiful, you’re perfect, baby, I promise. I’m never leaving you, I’m right there, forever.”

It takes long and long minutes for Freddie to come back to his senses, for the panic to fade away, replaced by a few new tears, exhaustion. He finally feels the warmth, feels the beating of Brian’s heart against his chest. He lets go of Brian’s T-shirt, instead he curls his arms on Brian’s chest, relieved with the feeling of his arms around him, holding him, comforting him. 

“I love you,” he whispers quietly when Brian lays him down, still holding him, closing the bedside lamp, laying the covers over both of them. Eventually, darkness envelops Freddie and he’s asleep. 

  
  
  


He’s slightly embarrassed of what happened the night before, but Brian doesn’t let go of his hand. 

“I’m sorry, for hum— yesterday,” he says quietly, looking down. 

They’re still sitting on the bed and he can’t help remembering what happened over and over again, feeling more stupid each time. If Brian wants to leave, doing that will only make him run even more quickly. 

“It’s okay, love, you don’t have to apologize,” Brian responds, Freddie looks up at him carefully and when he sees the circles under his eyes that weren’t as dark the day before, he feels like he should apologize. 

“Will you talk to me?” He asks. “Because I don’t want you to get in your head and not tell me about it.”

It’s only when Freddie feels his hand being squeezed comfortingly that he gets the courage to talk. Taking a deep breath, trying  _ not _ to panic, he starts. 

“I just… I don’t want you to leave me. And if you see how fat I am now, you’ll want to.” His voice is so small it makes Brian’s heart ache. Self-consciously, he wraps his arm around his midsection. 

Brian, gently, removes his arm. He then gets a hold of Freddie’s top and slides it off, ignoring Freddie’s protests. He looks at him vulnerably, as if begging him not to betray all the trust Freddie’s given him. He doesn’t really hide himself away, but still squeezes his hands between his knees, so Brian can’t see him. 

Brian persists, removing his arms again, taking his hand again, kissing him on the forehead before sitting beside him and laying his free hand on Freddie’s belly. He feels Freddie flinching away slightly, but he doesn’t remove his hand. 

“I love you,” Brian whispers before kissing the tender skin of Freddie’s middle. He slowly lifts his head up, kissing every inch of skin he possibly can. He finally reaches his lips, holding with his hand the side of Freddie’s head. He pulls away for a few seconds, looking into Freddie’s insecure but still loving eyes. 

“You’re not fat, you’ve gained a tiny bit of weight. It looks healthy on you, and anyway you always look absolutely gorgeous, you would no matter what, okay? I’m not gonna go run to try and find someone else because of that. I love you, more than I’ve ever loved anyone one or could ever love anyone else. You’re the love of my life and if I ever  _ ever  _ lost you, I wouldn’t even know how to live.”

Freddie doesn’t miraculously love how he looks and loses the fear of Brian leaving him, but it softens them, makes them fade away slightly. Brian won’t stop telling him all those things all over again until he believes them. 

  
  



End file.
